


The Storm

by steamandstardust



Series: The Future is Diesel [3]
Category: Thomas the Tank Engine & Friends, Thomas the Tank Engine - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Friendships, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 18:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17533721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steamandstardust/pseuds/steamandstardust
Summary: Dillon and Diesel 10 set off to tackle their days work in high spirits. But a horrendous storm blows in, battering the island and causing all manner of damage.A huge tree topples onto the tracks, crushing Edward. The weight of it is beyond what Diesel 10 can safely move, but he attempts to save the stricken steam engine.Plus Dillon has an unexpected chance to win his bet with Harriet.





	The Storm

Spring had come on the island of Sodor. Primroses bloomed on the banks and the hedgerows bristled with white blossom. And the energy of the earth was contagious; engines and workers alike were filled with a new enthusiasm, keen to brush the cobwebs of winter aside. 

As Dillon walked to the Dieselworks, he decided that today was the day to win his bet with Harriet. They had both been working on Sodor for a month now and they were comfortable with the daily demands of life on the Island. The rooms that they each rented in Vicarstown had begun to feel homely and they were on first name terms with all the other drivers. Plus, Dillon and Diesel 10 had proved to be an efficient pairing. Even the Fat Controller had commented on how useful they both were.

Inside the works, Dillon heard a familiar engine rumble into life. Diesel 10 oiled over.  
“You again,” the yellow diesel said, angling to take a playful swipe at his driver.   
Prepared for the ritual, Dillon jumped up and balanced nimbly on the buffer beam, one hand resting on 10's paintwork. They clattered out onto the main line together, Dillon laughing as they picked up speed. Caught up in the excitement, Diesel 10 reached down with his claw and opened it wide like the platform on a cherrypicker. Dillon climbed in and was raised up high into the air. They made a strange sight indeed, sailing down the track in the spring sunshine.

Gordon passed them, travelling in the other direction with the express.  
“Whatever next?” he huffed.  
The next engine they passed was Edward. He was waiting patiently in a station with three passenger carriages coupled up to him.  
“Good morning Edward!” Dillon shouted, “Good morning Gregory!”  
Edward's driver leaned out of the cab, looking left and right before finally looking up and catching sight of Dillon on his perch.   
“Oh, morning Dillon. That's an unusual way to travel,” Gregory observed. He was thoughtful and quiet, but meticulous in in his care of Edward. Previously, he would have steamed into a siding to get out of Diesel 10's way, but the new driver seemed to have the warship under control.  
“It is,” Dillon agreed, “but I have the best view of any driver on Sodor!”  
From his vantage point he could see rolling hills, dense quiet woodland and green fields speckled over with wildflowers.  
Gregory nodded in agreement.  
“You might be right, lad. But Edward and I do well enough.”  
Edward's fireman appeared, consulting his pocketwatch with some concern, and Gregory raised a hand to wave goodbye.  
“Wait a second, can I ask you something?”  
“Go ahead.”  
“Is there a reason why diesels don't often pull passenger services on Sodor?”  
“Well,” Gregory rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “they're certainly strong enough, and there's no doubt they're reliable enough. Some of them are even fast enough. But I suppose.... they lack a certain grace. Meaning no offence, of course.”  
“None taken.” 

Later that morning, Diesel 10 was filling a truck with the remnants of a burnt out signal box. The new one was partially constructed, and it promised to be very grand indeed. Dillion walked round to the front of the engine, reaching into his satchel.  
“I bought this in town,” he told 10, producing a tin of wax polish from the bag. “It's for cars really. You know, fancy ones, but I thought it might perk up your paint.”   
He waited for a reaction, unsure if the gesture might cause offence. Diesel 10 looked fine as he was, but Dillon felt inspired by how the steamie drivers preened and perfected their engines. Why need a diesel be any different?  
The warship stopped what he was doing. His eyes widened as he looked from Dillon to the tin of wax and back again. Uncharacteristically, he was lost for words.  
“Well, if you really want to,” he finally managed to say.  
“I do,” said Dillon, popping the lid and dipping in a soft cloth. “As you were.”  
Diesel 10 raised an eyebrow. Was Dillon really expecting him to just get on with his work while he was being rubbed all over? Dillon began to hum. Clearly he was.

Overhead, clouds were gathering, blocking out the sun and turning the air chill. As the light turned grey, the wind began to get up. Soon it was gusting across the island, shaking signals and tearing the fragile first leaves off the trees.  
Dillon looked up from polishing Diesel 10. The patch which he had done looked like it could have been brand new.  
“That storm came in quick.”  
10 carefully folded his metal claw and laid it flat on his roof. It was getting to windy to use it, and even with it folded, the large engine was catching the wind a little and swaying on the track.  
Dillon glanced down the line. Even large trees were bending, branches thrashing in the gale.   
“Back to the works I think, mate. Let's wait for this to clear.” Dillon patted the engine and climbed into the cab, almost losing the door to the wind as he did so.

They moved slowly, aware of the many dangers caused by such a vicious storm. They passed creaking water towers and small pieces of debris littered the track. Then they heard the noise. It was coming from ahead and it began as a creak, shifted to a crash and then ended as a shrill whistle of fear. Without prompting, Diesel 10 surged forward. Around the next bend, an awful scene awaited them.

Edward was slumped at a strange angle, half on and half off the tracks. Black smoke was leaked from his cab and, laying across his boiler, pinning him like a taxidermy butterfly, was a huge oak tree.  
“Dillon! Diesel 10!” Gregory shouted, “get back. The tree is crushing him! His boiler could explode!”  
The diesel and his driver could see that the passengers had already been evacuated from the carriages, and they were gathered nervously on the grass bank further down the line. Tears were streaming from Gregory's eyes as he watched his engine sink, inch by inch, under the weight of the tree. His fireman held his shoulder, pulling him away. There was nothing they could do.

“10,” said Dillon, laying a steadying hand on the controls, “can you lift that tree?”  
The warship looked at the huge trunk, calculating the weight that held Edward down.  
“I don't know.” His voice was steady and serious. “Do you know what happens when the boiler of a steam engine ruptures?”  
Dillon gulped. “I can imagine.”  
“Alright then.”  
With that, the locomotive oiled forward, flexing his claw in preparation.

Around them, the gale was dying down, but now and then another monumental gust would catch them and set the engine swaying drunkenly again.  
“Curse it!” Diesel 10 growled, feeling the wind catch his claw and twist the metal, threatening to tear apart the hydraulics. But he pressed on, grabbing hold of the tree and closing the claw as hard as he could, driving rusty metal teeth deep into the wood.  
Edward groaned weakly, his boiler straining and creaking beneath the weight. There were only moments before the metal gave way.  
“You can do it!” Dillon shouted, both hands gripping the dash as if he could somehow lend his own small store of strength to his engine.  
Diesel 10 heaved. He pulled as hard as he could, straining with the weight of the tree. Gritting his teeth, he directed every last bit of power to the claw, cheeks growing red as he battled his best to achieve the impossible. And slowly, very slowly, the tree began to move. The crushing weight was lifted from Edward and the steam engine took a deep breath of relief.   
10 was tiring, well aware that he was shifting a load well beyond his rating. But with a final flick, he threw the tree aside and the blue engine was free.

The atmosphere was jubilant. Gregory ran over and wrapped his arms around Diesel 10's face, much to the engines dismay. But he was too tired to do anything. Edward's fireman was shaking Dillon's hand, babbling incoherently, and the assembled passengers were clapping and cheering.  
Edward would need extensive repairs, but he had been snatched from the jaws of the scrapheap, that was for sure.  
Dillon surveyed the scene, and then, in the midst of all the chaos, an idea appeared in his mind. Here was the perfect opportunity to not only be really useful, but also to win his bet with Harriet! He turned to Gregory.  
“Those passengers need to be taken to safety. 10 here is strong enough to pull Edward's carriages, and we can get help for Edward at the same time,” Dillon said.  
Gregory was nodding. It was unorthodox, but it was a sensible solution. “Alright,” he agreed.  
Soon Diesel 10 had been coupled up to the carriages and pulled them back to a safe point for the passengers to get in. Dillon helped them up from the ground, boarding being no easy task outside a station.  
As they pulled away, the diesel driver saluted Gregory and his fireman solemnly. More help would be coming very soon.

Once they were out of sight, Dillon allowed himself a smug smile. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Harriet's number.  
“Meet me at Glennock station, it's an emergency!”  
Then he called the Fat Controller and explained about the accident.

Beneath Dillon, Diesel 10 clattered along as smoothly as he could, adjusting quickly to the weight of the carriages. He felt exhausted, but important. His fuses fizzled with a strange confusion of thoughts. How did Dillon seem to get on so well with everyone? How did he always know just what to do? The engine glowed with pride. He must have the best driver on Sodor. Then he felt a flutter of that same feeling that he got when Aiden touched him. He blushed deeply, jolting his passengers a little as he lost concentration, crushing the sensation as best he could. The last thing he needed was to mess up his first actual real friendship. There was no need to force it into something more.

Harriet was waiting at the station as instructed. Her mouth dropped open as she saw Diesel 10 pull in with three carriages. She gaped in amazement as slightly weatherworn passengers began to disembark. Outside on the road, Bertie was already waiting to transport them to their various homes. She waggled a finger at Dillon, but couldn't quite decide what to say.  
With an almost perfectly straight face, he explained about the accident, and gestured proudly at his solution. Even Diesel 10 looked pleased with himself.  
“Remember, it's my dare next,” Dillon reminded Harriet.  
“I- I remember,” she stuttered. Her eyes were ringed with red.  
Dillon looked at her more closely, and even in the midst of his triumph, he realized that something was wrong. Holding out his hand, he gestured for her to join him in the cab.   
At first, she shook her head mutely, but when he didn't move she eventually gave in. 

In the relative privacy of the cab, she looked ready to burst into tears.  
“Whats up girl?” Dillon asked.  
Harriet looked out the window, fiddling jerkily with her sleeve. Her dark eyes glinted with unshed tears, and she was trembling with the effort of holding it all in.  
“I just heard,” she said, “that Darlington is to be closed down.” She turned back to Dillon. “The land will be sold to developers. For apartments!”  
Dillon frowned. “Do you know that for sure?”  
“What other possible outcome is there? The works is running at a loss. All the staff have already been notified.”  
“But nothing has been signed? Nothing officially sold off?”  
“No, even they can't work that fast.”  
“Alright,” said Dillon, easing Diesel 10 into action, “I have a plan.”


End file.
